The admission loosens and tightens in my chest at the same time. The first reason should be enough to walk away. But the second one undoes me. I suspect Thorne Blackstone rarely allows himself to be this honest.
“You’re not alone in that,” I admit like it’s a dangerous secret.
That’s all it takes. The distance between us vanishes as he steps forward, one hand finding my waist while the other cups my face. His thumb traces my lower lip, and I can’t help the small sound that escapes me.
“I’ve been wanting to do this since I spotted you entering Tipsy,” he murmurs, nipping at my ear.
“You saw me before we came to your table?”
“I always see you, Ivy.”
Then his mouth is on mine, and thinking becomes secondary to feeling. I sink my fingers into his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp, and he makes a sound low in his throat that sends heat spiraling through me. The edge of the desk presses into the back of my thighs as he crowds closer, his body a solid wall of heat against mine.
His lips trail from my mouth to my jaw, then down the column of my throat. When he finds the pulse point there, he lingers. The scrape of teeth followed by the soothing press of his tongue has fire blooming outward from my core, possessing every inch of me.
“Thorne,” I gasp, not sure if I’m asking him to stop or begging for more.
His hand skims up my thigh, beneath the hem of my borrowed dress. The touch of his fingers against bare skin heightens the electricity between us. But when he reaches the edge of my underwear, reality crashes back into me like ice water.
“Wait,” I gasp.
To his credit, he stops immediately, though he’s vibrating with tension. His breathing is ragged against my neck, but he pulls back enough to meet my eyes in the dim light.
“We can’t keep doing this,” I say, fighting to steady my voice. “Giving in and retreating. It’s giving me whiplash.”
He doesn’t move away, but his hand slides back to safer territory at my hip. “What would you suggest? We’ve tried keeping our hands off each other.” He looks to where my palm is flat against his stomach. “And aren’t doing a very good job at it. But, in two months or when my father’s mess is fixed, you’ll be back in New York and I’ll be returning to Quebec.”
It’s a fair question. One I should have considered before letting myself be pulled into this closet of a room, before letting his hands and mouth make me forget all the reasons this is complicated.
Of course, that might be the solution. To stop making it complicated. “We don't have to overthink it,” I say. “Maybe we just... enjoy this until it’s over. A physical relationship with an expiration date.”
His eyes darken. “No overthinking. No expectations.” He steps closer. “Just this.”
I nod. “It’s time we stop pretending we don’t want each other. We’re both adults. We know this isn’t forever.”
“We need to be discreet.” His thumb traces patterns on my hip. “There’s no reason to confuse Madison. Or cause you issues because you’re working for my company. Not when we’ll soon be in different countries.”
He’s staring at me with an intensity that makes my stomach flip. The crease between his brows has smoothed. His jaw, so often locked tight, has relaxed.
His hand slides from my waist to where the fabric of my dress meets my skin. He leans in, close enough that I feel the warmth of his breath. “Ivy,” he says, my name a rough whisper.
“Thorne,” I answer, leaning into his touch.
“Are you sure about this?” he asks, his thumb continuing its maddening path across my lip.
Instead of answering with words, I rise on tiptoe and press my mouth to his. The kiss is different this time—a deliberate choice rather than an impulsive surrender. His arms wrap around me, one hand splayed across my lower back, the other tangling in my hair.
He turns us, guiding me back until I’m pressed against the door, the solid weight of his body pinning me there. One of his thighs slides between mine, and I can’t help the small sound that escapes me at the pressure exactly where I need it.
His mouth leaves mine to trace a path down my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin beneath my ear. “I’ve been thinking about that sound,” he murmurs against my skin. “Wondering what other noises I could draw from you.”
My hands find the buttons of his shirt, fumbling in the dim light. I need his skin against mine, need something to ground me in this moment that feels like it might slip away at any second.
When I finally make contact with the heated skin of his chest, we both groan. He’s all hard planes and subtle ridges, and Iexplore greedily, mapping the contours of his body as his mouth continues its devastating path along my collarbone.
His hand finds the zipper at the back of my dress, and he slowly pulls it down. The cold air hits my heated skin, sending a shiver through me. The borrowed dress loosens, and Thorne pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark with want.
“You’re beautiful.” His breathing is shallow, pupils blown wide as his gaze maps every inch of exposed skin, leaving no room for doubt or inhibitions.
